Count Down
by WindyCanyon
Summary: Nine...Eight...Seven...Six... Alfred woke up to a normal day, a normal morning, but it was not to stay normal. An accident occurs and Arthur dies. It's not long before he finds he's stuck in a time loop to save Arthur's life, reliving his lover's deaths over and over. Will he beat the clock or lose Arthur forever? Five...Four...Three...Two...One.
1. Ten

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

* * *

**Ten**

**.**

The sun was high in the sky, its light drifted through the window and lit up the room through the white curtains. With a start, Alfred woke up and quickly looked to the sleeping man next to him. He felt the fading effects of panic, but couldn't remember the cause of his distress. Softly, he ran his fingers through the untidy mess of hair besides him, reassuring himself everything is fine. Alfred trailed his fingers down his love's pale cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"Arthur," he called, a smile played on his lips. He wrapped his arms around the Brit's waist.

The body shifted and an intelligible mumble followed in reply.

"Come on, Artie. Don't make me kiss you awake," he whispered playfully in his ear.

Another grunt and a hand halfheartedly moved to push him away.

"As you wish." He smirked, taking advantage of Arthur's sleepy state to press a soft kiss to soft lips. Alfred never usually got kisses so easily from the stubborn Englishman, who always snapped at him and blushed if he stole a kiss in public.

Arthur's eyes fluttered open and his lips slowly stared to move, kissing back in a sort of drunken way.

Alfred pulled back and chuckled. "I win~"

"It wasn't a game, you git," Arthur grumbled, half annoyed to be awake and half annoyed he pulled away.

"I know, but I'm the Hero and the Hero always gets the girl." He laughed at the Brit's offended expression.

"Excuse me! I am not a fucking girl!"

"I didn't say you were-" He was cut off as a pillow connected with his face. "Hey! Not nice-" Another well-aimed pillow hit its mark. With a growl, he grabbed Arthur's hands and pinned them to the bed.

"No fair! You know you're stronger than me!" He tried to struggle again the vice-like grip.

"I know," he said through smirked lips. Alfred chuckled at the glare Arthur sent his way.

"You're a real ass." Arthur scowled fiercely at him.

Alfred smothered his scowl with a heated kiss, their tongues battling each other for dominance. He smirked as he claimed victory by sliding his tongue past Arthur's swollen lips into the hot wetness of his mouth. Alfred hadn't started out as the best kisser when he began dating the Englishman, but after a few months of Arthur putting him to shame in the tongue department, he finally mastered kissing enough to quiet Arthur's constant jabs at his inexperience. Alfred pulled back, leaving them both panting.

"Don't do that again," Arthur said and then mumbled under his breath, "Or we might never get out of this bed."

He grinned widely. "You love it when I wake you up with kisses though."

Arthur blushed rather brightly and sputtered out, "I-I do not! Don't be foolish!"

Alfred laughed at him and got up, stretching his arms out over his head. "What are we doing today?"

"There's a meeting at eleven." Arthur glared at the clock. "It's nine o' clock now."

He looked out the window. The sun shone brightly, chasing away the chill of winter's tail coats ends. Alfred smiled and silently thanked the weather for such a beautiful day, the echos of his disturbing awakening fade from his mind, leaving nothing but the hope of a new day.

"Earth to Alfred." A pillow flew through the air and hit him in the head, knocking him from his happy castle in the sky.

"Huh?" He looked back to the grouchy man, who was now sitting up in the bed. "Did you say something?"

Arthur glared at him for not listening, not to say that was an unusual occurrence. "As I was saying before, go take a shower while I make breakfast. After you're done, I'll take a shower too."

"Wow, wow, wow! There is no way I'm letting you cook. You take the shower, I'll handle breakfast."

"I beg your pardon!" Arthur gave him an insulted look and scoffed, "My cooking isn't that bad. It's just...an acquired taste for a far more advanced person than you."

"If by person, he means Lord Death himself, then yeah," Alfred mumbled under his breath.

"Shut up, your stupid American!" There went another pillow flying towards him, but this time he caught it, much to the Brit's dissatisfaction.

"I love you too, Artie." Alfred grinned at him.

Arthur blushed furiously. "Oh, be quiet already!" He huffed and stormed away into the bathroom, grumbling curses under his breath all the while.

Alfred laughed his loud, obnoxious laugh and wandered to the kitchen. In the background, he heard the running of water. _I wonder if Arthur will let me join him again,_ he thought to himself. _No, stick to the plan, you have breakfast to make._ He pouted as he started on making his coffee, only brewing a small amount, knowing Arthur won't want any and not even bothering to try to make tea. Arthur had already told him many times he made the worse tea the finicky Brit had ever tasted. He grumbled as he popped bread into the toaster, remembering how many times Arthur had poured the tea Alfred so kindly made for him down the drain.

"Uptight Brit," he mumbled under his breath.

"You're just an unrefined American with no taste in the simple pleasures of a good cup of tea," Arthur replied from behind him.

Alfred spun to face him. "Would you stop sneaking up on me like that?! It's not cool, dude!" Arthur stood in front of him, some baggy sweatpants hung low on his hips and he didn't have a shirt on. His wet locks of blonde dripped with water and fell over his forest green eyes like a curtain.

"But it's so fun to see your shocked face, love," the Englishman chirped, grinning widely at him.

"How did you even now I was thinking about making tea?!" Alfred angrily thew the toast on to a plate, trying to ignore the fact his lover was wearing almost nothing. "Would you stop with that damn mind reading crap too? I'm not a kid you can trick with a few fancy guesses."

Arthur rolled his eyes, placing a pot of water on the stove. "It was a lucky guess," he grinned devilishly. "Or maybe it was a little more than just luck."

"Arthur," Alfred whined. "You know I don't believe in that magick mumbo jumbo."

The Brit sighed and glared at him. "Seeing isn't always believing, you ignorant boy."

"Don't treat me like a kid, I'm only a couple of years younger than you!"

"You mean four years?" Arthur raised one of his thick, dark eyebrows. "I would say that's more than a couple."

"That's not the point! You're older than me and you talk to flowers!" Alfred was tired of constantly being looked down upon, and Arthur kinda seems crazy when he mumbles to his stupid flowers.

"It is a proven fact that talking to flowers help them grow," Arthur retorted back calmly. "You're acting like a child by bring my roses into this."

Alfred's face went red from embarrassment and anger, knowing in the back of his mind, he was getting too working up over this. "You talk kinder to those silly flowers than your ever have to me!"

"Of course I do. The roses aren't half as annoying as you are!" Arthur felt his anger rising to meet Alfred's. "Are you seriously jealous of my flowers?!"

"No, but you should treat people with more kindness than stupid flowers!" He turned back to the coffee pot, and mumbled under his breath. "Aren't I more important than girly flowers...?"

"Alfred..." He started to say.

"Forget it! You've always cared about things that don't exist before you ever cared about me or anyone else," Alfred yelled, and then, just to hurt him, he added, "No wonder Francis couldn't stand you! You'll never be able to love anyone with your attitude!"

Arthur froze, letting the words hang in the air.

Alfred stared wide-eyed at him, knowing he crossed the line. "Arthur, I'm sorry! I didn't mean-"

"You meant it, don't pretend you didn't," he spat the words in his face. Arthur glared hatefully, his eyes hardened into two icy blocks of green, but Alfred could see the beginning of tears he was trying to hide.

"I'm sorry," he tried to say, but Arthur slapped him across the face and sprinted out the door. "Wait! Arthur!" Alfred chased after him, soon gaining on the smaller man, but even with Alfred's speed, Arthur managed to stay ahead of him, jumping fences and ducking around people.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion right before his eyes. He reached out to grab Arthur's arm, his hand was inches away as Arthur ran out into the street. Just as he did, a dump truck seem to come out of nowhere. In horror, he cried out a warning, but it was too late. Arthur stared at the truck, eyes wide. His scream was cut short by the sickening thud of metal against flesh. Blood sprayed across the concrete, the warm substance hitting Alfred's white shirt, staining it red.

"A-Arthur," he choked out as he approached his love's broken body. Bones jutted out in directions not natural for the human body, blood pooling around him. Alfred fell to his knees beside him, his gazed locked on the deathly pale fave of his Artie. Arthur's eyes stared dully towards the sky, the once beautiful green eyes that had held so much fire, were now blank. Alfred stared into those eyes, searching for that spark of life, but they remained cold and lifeless.

Then everything went black...

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**More coming soon. I used different methods to write this story, so please, tell me what you think of it. I would like to know if the approach I used to write this was perhaps better than the one I use for my other stories. Thank you for Reading~**

**-Windy**


	2. Nine

**Nine**

**.**

Alfred woke up with a start, sweat clung to his brow and tremors shook his body. He gasped as the memory of Arthur's death washed over him. He looked beside him, fully expecting no one to be there. But to his relief, there was Arthur with not a single scratch on him, sleeping peacefully.

"Arthur!" He quickly crushed him in a hug, not caring if he was disturbing his sleep.

"What?" A hazy reply came from the man. "Did you have a bad dream again?" His mind grasping for the only sensible reason Alfred would wake him in such a way, but then again, it is Alfred and not much makes sense about him.

"Y-You'reoaky..." He pressed his face into the soft locks of hair, tears slipped from his eyes, dripping into his hair.

"Alfred? Want to tell me about it?" Arthur asked gently, frowning when something wet drips into his ear.

"You died," he spoke softly, as if he was afraid to jinx his luck. "It was my fault; there was so much blood. So much blood..."

"Hey, I'm not dead. I'm right here." Arthur allowed himself to show his affection by stroking his hair softly. "I'm not going to die anytime soon."

Alfred nodded, still holding him tightly against his chest. "Don't leave me yet..."

"I won't." He kissed him softly, comforting him with his lips.

Alfred pulled back, staring into his eye, staring into the lively green depths.

"Come on," Arthur said softly. "We have a meeting to get ready got. Go take a shower."

He couldn't argue, even if Arthur did make the worse meal ever, he would eat every bit of it, just to make him smile. Slowly, he let Arthur pull him up and push him into the bathroom. Reluctantly, he closed the door and striped himself of his sleep-wear. He turned the shower on cold, letting the water run over his body until his teeth began to chatter from the freezing temperature. Only when, the cold had thoroughly chilled him to the bone, did he turn it on hot to chase away the shivers. Alfred lathered soap into his hair, roughly scrubbing and pulling his hair. The water was scalding and steam had filled the bathroom by the time he got out.

He wiped away moisture from the mirror, but it wasn't himself he found staring back at him. It was a complete stranger...no, not a _complete_ stranger. The man in the mirror had his face, but his hair was flat black and horns poked out from the ebony hair. Their eyes locked together, two eyes of blue observed each other, one calm and dark while the others were wide with fear and confusion. Suddenly, the other man's face burst into a devilish grin, as if he knew something Alfred didn't. The strange man took a permanent marker from his pocket and wrote the number nine.

"Alfred, are you oaky?" Arthur stood in the doorway, watching him. Alfred blinked, the man was gone and the only thing standing in front of him was his own reflection. He stared, searching for the man who looked like him, but different at the same time.

"Huh?" He turned to face him. "Yeah, I was just checking out my amazing body," he grinned. Then, he suddenly realized he was standing entirely naked in front of Arthur. He turned red and dove for a towel to cover himself with.

"That's too bad, I was enjoying the view of your 'amazing' body," Arthur commented when the towel wrapped tightly around his waist, a ruthless grin spread across his face.

"S-Shut up!" Alfred's blush grew.

Arthur's grin widened. "You should model, you have a nice enough ass for it."

"Arthur! Stop teasing me!" Alfred protested loudly.

He rolled his eyes at him. "Quiet down, I was just having a bit of fun," he said before turning and walking out. "Come on, I got breakfast ready."

Alfred quickly followed him, stopping by the bedroom to pull a pair of jeans on.

When Alfred made it to the kitchen, Arthur was trying to wave smoke away from some obviously very badly burnt toast. It wasn't long before the fire alarm went off, beeping loudly and constantly.

"Bloody hell!" Arthur tried to reach up and turn it off, but his fingers fell short of coming near it. "Don't just stand there, you git. Turn the bloody contraption off!"

Alfred slowly and deliberately reached up, taking his time to rub it in Arthur's face that he could reach the tiny machine on the ceiling without even trying.

Arthur crossed his arms and muttered, "Bastard." A glare trained on him, but he just grinned back before pushing the off button on the alarm.

"You are one of the worse cooks ever," Alfred's grin widened.

"If you don't want to eat my cooking, make your own damn food," Arthur replied angrily.

"Hey, let's not fight. I'll eat whatever you give me," Alfred said softly, remembering the 'dream' from before and how fighting got him killed in it.

Arthur blinked at him, surprised by the sudden change in tone. "I...I don't think I did too badly this time, I've been practising...again."

He smiled. "That's great Artie." _You're great_, he added mentally, and sat down at the small breakfast table by the window. His gaze wandered out the window, taking in the puffy clouds and radiant sunlight.

"The weather's awfully nice today," Arthur commented as he set down a plate of burnt toast and charred eggs in front of him.

Alfred didn't even blink at the, most likely, terribly tasting food in front of him before scarfing it down like it was the best thing he's ever eaten. Or maybe, more like a man starved of vital sustenance necessary for the process of living.

"Was it any good?" Arthur's eyes shone hopefully.

He didn't have the heart to tell him his cooking tasted just as shitty as the last time he had it. "You're getting better."

Arthur was quiet for a moment, utterly shocked by the compliment. "Y-You really think so?"

Alfred nodded. "Yep, I wouldn't have said so if I didn't mean it."

The Englishman gaped at him, he never expected to ever hear such words from Alfred when all he's ever been told is that his cooking is terrible. And there was that incident with the hospital, although Arthur swears his scones did not cause Mr. Jenkins' stomach tumor.

"No need to look so surprise," Alfred laughed.

Arthur stared at him. "You're full of crap, you little shit."

"You just now noticed?" He smiled innocently. "I thought you knew that already."

Arthur glared at him. "You're such an asshole!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Alfred faked an annoying, cheerful English accent.

"Shut up!" Arthur smacked him on the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" He held up his arms to block as more blows rained down on him. "Ow! Ow! Stop! That really hurts!"

"Good! You are a jerk, you uncivilized, unrefined, inconsiderate brute!" Arthur punctuated each insult with a painful flick to the forehead.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Alfred threw his hands up to protect himself, but it did little to protect him from the Englishman's anger.

Arthur turned away from him to the window, glaring at the birds gathered on the window seal.

In on swift motion, Alfred pulled him into his lap and crashed their lips together before the Brit could protest. Arthur's arms snaked around his neck, his anger fueled the kiss into a more passionate one. Alfred finally pulled back, but Arthur's arms stopped him from pulling away completely. With their faces inches apart, their panting breaths mingling between them. Arthur looked away as blush spread across his cheeks, the hold on his neck loosened, but kept his arms still wrapped around him.

"Have I ever told you...your eyes are beautiful? Like, I could get lost just by staring into them." He blushed at how cheesy he sounded.

Arthur averted his eyes, the blush growing brighter on his cheeks. "S-Shut up..."

"Don't look away." Alfred gently turned his face back towards him, staring deeply into the never-ending pools of green. He just couldn't help himself, those eyes called to him. _Man, he really is cute. I could fall in love-_ His face flushed brightly at even the thought of love.

Arthur stood up abruptly. "I-I'm going to make some, uh, tea. Yeah, tea," he said as he quickly turned to the stove.

"Oaky." He stared at the back of Arthur's head. Slowly, he let his gaze wander down until he was staring at the Brit's well-toned bum.

"Would you like some tea too?" Arthur asked, oblivious to Alfred's open staring.

"Hmm.. Oh! Uh, yeah." Alfred glanced up to make sure he wasn't caught staring before returning his eyes to the firm butt in front of him.

"Alfred? What are you staring at?"

His eyes snapped up to the green ones that now glared at him. "Nothing," he mumbled, acting like a child who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I swear, if I catch you staring at my arse again, I'll pluck out those pretty blue eyes of yours," he growled.

"But you have such a nice looking ass, Artie." He smirked.

Arthur slammed a teacup in front of him (It's surprising the fine china didn't break), his cheeks red with blush. "I've heard enough out of you. Just stop looking-" Arthur gasped as he felt a hand pinch his bum.

Alfred snickered at the look on the Brit's face. "Touching doesn't count as looking," he purred, bringing another hand to cup his other butt cheek.

"Stop it!" Before Arthur could do anything, he found his legs forced apart and made to straddle Alfred's lap. And for all that American bastard was worth, he had the nerve to smile at him so devilishly.

"How 'bout we skip the meeting today," he whispered seductively in his ear, licking the shell of it.

"W-We can't t-there's- Alfred, i-it's difficult t-to speak when y-you do t-that." He breath caught in his throat as Alfred began to kiss down his neck.

"Good, sex is always better when you stop arguing." He sucked lightly on a soft part of his neck.

Arthur gasped, trying to hold back a moan as Alfred's hand snaked its way up his shirt. "B-But... Ah~!" Alfred's fingers had brushed against his nipple, leaving him wanting more. "Stop! Meeting-Kiku-" His words came out disjointed as another had joined the other in pulling up his shirt.

"I don't care." Alfred nipped and licked at Arthur's neck while his hands pinched and rubbed his sensitive nubs. The noises spilling from Arthur's lips drove him on, making his jeans tight and uncomfortable.

Arthur moaned under his touch. "You bastard, we have a meeting," he fought to keep his voice steady, weakly pushing on his shoulder.

"But you've made me excited," Alfred whispered huskily in his ear. He shifted so Arthur could feel his hardness under him. "You always talk about taking responsibility, are you going to follow your own advice for once?"

The other man's face grew hot with blush and he stuttered embarrassingly, "Y-You idiot!" He tried to sound stern, but couldn't manage.

"You're so kinky," Alfred purred, rubbing himself against him again.

Arthur suddenly slipped off his lap, a smirk on his lips. He unbuttoned Alfred's pants with his teeth, his eyes locked on his face. "You're hopeless."

Alfred blushed brightly, the tables turned now that Arthur had taken control and had pulled his trousers away from his hardened length.

The Englishman's eyes glinted seductively, almost growing a shade darker with lust. Slowly, he flicked his tongue out over Alfred's member, running it lightly over the tip.

"D-Don't tease," Alfred brought a hand up to muffle the loud moans. At times like these, he almost hated his naturally robust voice.

Arthur took his length swiftly into his mouth, just to shut up the talkative American. Alfred groaned at the wet heat enveloped his length. Arthur stared at him with bright green eyes full of lust, thoroughly enjoying the sinful look of ecstasy on Alfred's face. The American watched him through half-closed eyes, their eyes locked together. Then, Arthur scraped his tongue along a particularly sensitive area of flesh, it nearly sent him of the edge.

The Brit felt his young lover's body stiffen when he rubbed his tongue over that delicious area again. He savored the moans and cries that fell from Alfred's lips, as if they were leaves on a very windy Autumn day.

"A-Arthur!" he cried out when Arthur started doing those things with his tongue that drove him crazy.

He hummed against Alfred's member, sending sweet vibrations down his length. Knowing Alfred was close, he began to move his head up and down at an absolutely torturous pace for Alfred. Arthur felt the warm liquid hit the back of his throat, he quickly swallowed and licked his lips clean.

"S-Sorry," Alfred, left breathless by his climax, whispered.

"Quite alright," Arthur said, grinning at him devilishly. He stood, still licking his lips to get the last of the salty taste off them.

Alfred blushed at that pink tongue flicking in and out of his lips, as if he were simply cleaning his lips of melted ice cream. "Stop that..."

The Brit grinned teasingly, well aware of the way his dear Alfred kept staring at his licking. "What is the problem, love?" A smug look found its way onto his features.

"I know you're doing that on purpose," he grumbled, not daring to look him in the eye.

Arthur laughed at him. "My apologies. Go get dressed properly while I take a shower. We'll leave for the meeting after that." Then he added, "And don't even think about joining me like last time."

Alfred pouted, his usual attitude back in place. "But it was so much fun last time," he whined.

"It's nearly tin, and you know it takes nearly thirty minutes on a good day," he said sternly. "And it'll be forty if traffic is bad. We're running later than usual," the Brit grumbled.

"I know," Alfred mumbled. "But-"

"No buts. Get your ass moving, now." Arthur's eyes glinted dangerously when he didn't move. "Or, I'm cutting you off."

"I'm going!" Alfred paled at the thought of not being allowed to touch Arthur; remembering the last time they had gone through a dry spell because Arthur 'cut him off', he quickly ran to the bedroom.

"You better be dressed by the time I come out," he called after him before disappearing into the bathroom.

_That meanie, using his body against me._ Alfred scowled as he pulled on his much hated suit. It really was cruel of Arthur to leverage Alfred's own desire against him. He had thought his lust might hopefully wane when he could finally have his Arthur, but it had done nothing, but growing, filling him with endless need to touch him. Simply being around Arthur could keep the hunger satisfied for a while, but every night Alfred _had_ to entice Arthur into the lusty thrashing of love-making. And the stingy Brit never protested...much. He always found a way, even if it meant swallowing his embarrassment and pride by letting the smaller man top.

Alfred walked out the door, but as he passed the full-length closet mirror, he froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a head of dark, raven hair. He turned to face his 'reflection', his eyes locked with the icy blue of his opposite's eyes that stared triumphantly into his. Like before, his other self took a permanent marker from the pocket of his bomber jacket and wrote the number nine on the mirror. As an indication to time, he tapped his wrist as if he were motioning to a watch.

_What does that mean?_ Alfred stared blankly at the number, then glanced up to his doubt and shrugged his shoulders. The black-haired man sent him a look that obviously meant 'You're a fucking retard', even to an oblivious dunce like him._ Well excuse me. No need to give me such an insulting look._ He offered an offend glare, but the man just smirked at him.

A blood curdling scream cut through the air, followed by a series of loud gun shots. Alfred bolted to the voice he knew so well, stumbling into the room in time to see a man dressed all in black empty another round of bullets into Arthur's fallen body.

"NO!" He roared and threw himself at the black clad man, but before he could even cross the small living room, the intruder turned and ran. Alfred moved to give chase, but a painful, wet wheezing stopped him.

"Arthur!" He dropped down next to him, trying not to think.

Blood seemed to stream endlessly from the many holes that riddled his body, spreading out in a pool around him. "Alfred," he said weakly.

"Don't speak!" He tore off his jacket and tried to stop his bleeding. "You're going to be oaky!" Panic filled his voice.

A shaky, blood covered hand rested on his cheek. "Stop." He let out a wet cough and blood dropped from his lips.

"No! You can't die! You're not allowed to!" Tears threatened to spill as he clutched Arthur's cold hand to his cheek.

"Can't be helped... I love you," his voice barely made it past a whisper. The pain faded from his eyes, leaving only the emptiness death can offer.

"No!" Alfred screamed his agony, his hands coming up to cover his face.

Darkness overtook him again...


	3. Eight

**Eight**

**.**

"No," he screamed and thrashed, kicking the covers from his body.

"Alfred!" A very pissed Englishman hit him with a pillow. "Wake the hell up!"

His eyes flew open and he screamed again. Alfred's mind raced as he rolled off the bed and he didn't even begin to comprehend that Arthur was right in front of him. It was all so fresh in his memory, all the blood and he could still feel Arthur's trembling, red-stained hand pressed against his cheek.

"Alfred! Calm down!" Arthur took him by the shoulders and shook him. When Alfred finally looked at him, he was shocked to find tears flowing freely from those sky blue eyes. He asked, his voice laced with concern, "What's wrong?"

The stricken man's eyes focused on him, not even beginning to understand the question asked of him. He crushed Arthur against his chest, sobs racked his body, and he didn't try to contain them.

Arthur didn't care that he was having trouble breathing in Alfred's tight grip, nor did he care that tears were soaking through his shirt. He rubbed gentle circles on Alfred's back, trying to calm the younger man down. Every so often he would press a soft kiss to his wet cheek.

"Y-You're not d-dead," Alfred choked out after a while.

"No, love. I'm very much alive," he replied softly. "What made you think I was?"

"It was just a dream." Alfred was not longer sure that it was just a dream anymore, though. He let out a shaky breath, and said, "Sorry I woke you up. It was only a dream."

Arthur frowned, his worries not completely put to rest. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

He thought about telling him, but something stopped him. "No... I rather not." images of Arthur's dead body flashed across his mind, he closed his eyes to fight off more tears.

He didn't push the subject any further, at least not until Alfred had calmed down completely. "I'll brew some tea. That will make you feel better, poppet." Arthur made a move to get up, but Alfred's arms didn't move from their place around his waist.

Alfred didn't say anything, he didn't have to, Arthur settle himself back into his arms again. There was nothing more to say, they stayed like that for a long time, but the embrace couldn't last forever. Arthur did not want to disturb Alfred, but they really needed to get ready for that meeting and he didn't think their boss would tolerate it if they were late twice in a row. Even if Arthur was the co-owner, this wasn't a meeting he could blow off.

"Come on," he said gently, stroking his hair softly. "We need to prepare for the meeting with Mr. Honda."

Alfred nodded, but did not say a word.

His behavior disturbed Arthur very. Seriously, he didn't even know Alfred could be this quiet, let alone cry as if a terrible tragedy had befallen him. "Go...Go take a shower...and I'll make some breakfast?" The last part came out as a question, just to see if Alfred would rebut him with come comment on how bad his cooking was.

Alfred didn't break his silence, merely nodding in meek agreement.

"Are you even listening to me?" He yelled, finally finding reason for his muteness; Alfred simply wasn't listening to him.

"I am," he mumbled softly, not even bothering to deny the unsaid accusation that he was purposefully blocking him out.

"Oh... Well, go take that shower." Arthur couldn't start a fight with someone who wouldn't raise to his challenges.

The American renewed his silence as he walked to the bathroom. His thoughts were in pieces and he was rushing to put them in their places, hoping that when he had everything would make sense and he fix whatever was happening and Arthur wouldn't have to die anymore._ What is even going? Arthur keeps...d-dying, and what about that dark-haired dude that looks like me? He seemed to know what's going on, but how do you talk to someone in a mirror?_

A frustrated growl escaped his lips as he entered the bathroom. His other self was leaning against the side of the mirror, like it was a doorway, a bored expression on his face that brightened into a lazy grin.

"You!" He rushed to the mirror.

The other rolled his eyes at him and pulled a marker from his jacket, it was just like before, only this time he wrote an 8.

Alfred growled, "What does that mean?"

He pressed a finger to his own lips, motioning for him to quiet the fuck down and not be so loud.

"Sorry," he whispered, glancing at the door. "But really, what does that mean?"

His double just shrugged at him, smirking like he knew something he didn't, which he did, and he had no intentions of telling him. Now that Alfred was really looking at him, he noticed the man wore a jacket just like his, only black. In fact, everything about him was black, from his hair even down to his shoes.

"You're no help, you know that?" Alfred scowled at the silent 'reflection', then when he blinked, the man was gone, leaving only the 8 to fade slowly. "Damn it all!" His yell was quickly followed by the sounds of footsteps in the hall.

"Alfred? Is everything alright in there?" Arthur's worried voice came from outside the door, trying the door knob, only to find it locked.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, too quickly.

"Are you sure? Should I come in?"

"No! I'm not decent." Alfred threw off his clothes quickly, so he wasn't completely lying to him.

"Since when have you cared whether I see you naked or not?" Arthur's voice was raising along with his frustration. "Just open the bloody door!"

"Arthur," he whined. "You're so kinky. It's too early in the morning to have sex, it's bad enough you kept me up late last night. Plus, we have a meeting to get to."

"What?" Arthur sputtered, his face quickly growing hot. "Wait a tick, you actually care that we have a meeting?"

"Well... Yes?" He winced at how unconvincing that sounded. "Of course! Me and Kiku are great friends and i don't see him often enough."

"It's Kiku and I, you twat," Arthur corrected. "And it's good you're finally showing some effort, I was thinking about firing you soon."

Alfred pouted, even though he knew Arthur couldn't see him. "You wouldn't fire me!"

The Briton just laughed at him. "Hurry up with your shower, darling." Leaving Alfred to listen to his footsteps retreat away from the door.

_He wouldn't really fire me, would he? I guess I am kinda lazy..._ It wasn't that he was lazy, he just liked to do things at the last moment (Which annoyed Arthur to no end), and he never missed a dead line (Arthur couldn't chew him out for being late, which also annoyed him). For all his procrastinating, he was sure to always turn in his reports on time, or something that could be called a report. His spelling was terrible and his sentence structures and just his grammar in general was absolutely atrocious, or at least as a certain Brit put it, often adding that his literary skills were at the level of a third grader and that he had about the same attention span as one.

Although his intelligence couldn't be questioned (But that never stopped Arthur from calling an idiot, prat, git, or anything that would be an insult to his intellect), his lack of 'common sense' or simple good judgement put him in a position of constant ridicule. But he worked well with people, unlike Arthur, and was a wonderful leader who had his moments of incredible...reason. Which put him near the top as Arthur's head manager and that meant he had to with Arthur to all the boring meetings. Though, Alfred suspected it was also so Arthur wouldn't have to be bored alone, even though he could just as easily make his assistant, Toris, go with him. But it's not like he ever really complains, he honestly enjoys spending time with the prickly Brit.

Both Alfred and Arthur worked for a photographic design studio that had two main buildings, on in Japan and one in London. It was through the company that he first met fiery man who would steal his heart at the first 'Get your fucking arse in gear, you blood wanker!', he was hooked. Although, Arthur had a strict policies against relationships between co-workers, but Alfred manage to get closer to the quick-tempered Brit, only to find out from the Gossip Queen that Arthur had a boyfriend, a stupid Frenchman named Francis.

The two lovers were going through an especially long fight, where every single little thing turns into a massive argument, sometimes even coming to blows. It wasn't surprising that Arthur became closer to the young American (Although, he stayed oblivious the feelings Alfred had for him), he didn't make him feel like he needed to jump on him for every little mistake (There were far too many of those and they all were just too silly to stay angry over). Alfred always managed to make him smile and laugh, unlike Francis, who was great in bed and could be the most loving in their relationship, but could make him feel worthless in just a few sentences. And sadly, they both liked hurting each other more than anything else, and angry sex together was always the best, but they seemed to love it like that. Or at least that's what Arthur thought until he came home to find Francis in bed with another man, the one man that he despised and hated, Antonio.

Of course it made sense why Francis chose to use Antonio to cheat on him with, the two men were complete opposites. Antonio was nice and smiled a lot, where Arthur was snarky and had a permanent scowl plastered on his face; Arthur couldn't be more jealous of the man.

Alfred showered as quickly as he could, not bothering to even dry his hair properly. When he came out, he saw Arthur rushing around their small apartment, dressed in his best suit, trying to file papers into a folder with one hand and tying his green with the other, all the while balancing a phone on his shoulder.

"Yes, yes. Of course we can— Alfred, get your arse in gear, you git! We need to leave _now_," he yelled when he finally noticed him standing there, watching in amazement as he did so many things at once. "Excuse my yelling, Alfred is— Do something, you idiot!"

The American scrambled into action, throwing on clothes. He listened to Arthur talk on the phone, apparently someone had lost the presentation and they were going to have to come in early to use their copy of it. From the way Arthur's face was turning red with angry and his twitching hands, as if he wanted to hit something, Alfred felt bad for whoever would be on the receiving end of the massive explosion Arthur was about to have. Although, the one good thing that came out of this was the abandoned black coals in the kitchen, along with a full cup of tea. Alfred nodded to himself and thought, _That explains why he's so mad, he hasn't had his mandatory up of tea and is going into tea withdrawal._

"What the hell are you doing?" Arthur nearly screamed at him. "Let's get out arses going!" He forcibly grabbed Alfred's arm and dragged him of the door.

Their apartment was on the top floor of the building, and that suited their tastes quite nicely. Usually they would take the elevator down, but Arthur was in such a rush that he forced Alfred towards the stairs.

"Forget the bloody lift!" The clearly pissed Englishman yelled at him with he tried to protest.

After that, he kept his eyes glued to the steps as he raced to follow the smaller man, nearly tripping over himself a few times in his hurry. He noticed how the Arthur's shoes kept slipping off the backs of his heels and his shoelaces flopped around, barely keeping themselves from getting under his feel. They finally reached the platform when he said:

"Hey, Arthur. Stop for a moment." A knocking noise caused him to glance up at the door to floor three, catching sight of his other self in the reflection on the shiny metal. The man smirked at him smugly.

Arthur paused before yelling, "We don't have time to be distracted!"

He tore his eyes away from the door and reached to catch his arm. "Wait! Your—"

His body jerk forward before he could touch him and he fell head first down the stairs, his loud shriek echoed through the stairwell, bouncing off the walls and surrounding him. The scream, followed by the dull thuds of Arthur's body bouncing from step to step and the muffled snapping of bones.

"Nonononononono!" Alfred ran down the steps after him, praying that he somehow manged to survive. Only when he jumped off the second to last step, did he notice the awkward way Arthur's head bent, his arms twisted at the wrong angles, and how his chest did not raise and fall, but was still...so still.

Alfred cursed, howling his hate of the world for taking his Arthur from him. He screamed even louder when the growing familiar darkness took him again.


End file.
